


Winchester legends

by GrumpyTsundereShipper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, mentioned Destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 19:29:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16181663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyTsundereShipper/pseuds/GrumpyTsundereShipper
Summary: Dean and Sam Winchester are undebatably the most terrifying individuals in the entire supernatural world for both hunters and monsters alike. A new hunter makes a mistake in the Roadhouse.





	Winchester legends

It had been a long hunt. The vampire had been a pain and unusually crafty for its type so it had taken Dean and Sam twice the time to destroy the nest than the previous ones. Of course in their exhausted states they found themselves drawn towards the Roadhouse it search of a drink to wash back the lingering taste of blood. Those vampires had really put up a fight. 

The bar came into sight, unchanged and very much still standing. Permenance isn’t exactly a consistent thing in the young hunter’s lives. 

Sliding out of the Impala the grumbling ensued, “you know Sam? I’d really kill for a-“ 

“Drink. I know Dean so hurry up.” Rolling his eyes Sam lead them towards the entrance, in affected by Dean’s quiet whining. 

The two hunters entered the bar and the atmosphere became still.

 

The laughing and shouting that had been pouring out of the popular bar’s windows seemed to die the moment they walked into the room.

Dean and Sam’s very movements were feline and smooth, they radiated danger and it was indisputable that they had seen their fair share of fights. Pure bred hunters. Green eyes flitted around, instinctively scanning the room for foes, broad shoulders asserted their place, their dominance over everything that was in their sight line. Blood still clung to their clothes and unconcealed knives dripped with it. The very presence of the Winchesters held a weight that no normal hunter could, no normal man could. Legends, myths and nightmares. 

 

Hunters from all across the country watched in a mixture of awe, jealously or borderline fear as the Winchesters settled in their seats. Quiet exchanges of comments and rumours were thrown around, but not long enough for either of the Winchester’s to catch them. Oblivious to this, the brothers ignored the rippling fear and anxiety shared amongst their hunter brethren and continued to exchange information with the owner of the bar, a burly woman with a maternal air. 

 

One of the men, a veteran hunter well over 6 foot, shifted uncomfortably away from the Winchesters, feveremently keeping his eyes glued to the floor as he shuffled away. His buddies followed in suit, attempting to rectify the insult with hasty excuses. Stares quickly averted to drinks, staring at them intensely enough to crack the glasses. 

 

It was a few minutes into this silence that 3, loosely called, men bundled through the bar doors. It was obvious to everyone and everything that these ones were new, especially as they brought their hunting gear in with them. Pitiful was their weapons, heavy and cheap. 

 

The leader of the trio, a boy of just 18 lumbered up to the counter, ordering a round of beers, claiming to have had a successful hunt. “That’s right darling! We’re celebrating.” His dusty auburn hair and still cracking voice gave away his age. 

 

Ellen, amused by their antics replied smoothly, “sure kiddo, and what did you hunt?”

Ignoring the mildly insulting nickname the leader, spurred on by his two partners who seemed equally as enthusiastic, “we killed a possessed raven.” 

Practiced and composed, Ellen hid her patronizing laughter with a ‘good on you boys.’

It was when the leader spun round to relay the story of their victorious hunt did the entire atmosphere change. For there, sitting listening to the boy brag about his minor possession victory was Dean Winchester. 

The other hunters sat there in shock, some concerned for the boys’ lives and others ready to run out of the bar if things got messy. 

Dean listened to the boy shocked at the fact he was talking to him but also amazedly, he had forgotten the thrill of a successful hunt, the look on the leader’s face although incredibly condescending, was of pride and confidence. Dean almost smiled at the thought. The innocence of this hunter was something he had lost a long time ago and now that he thinks about it, no other hunters really talk to him? Strange that a newbie would and not a seasoned hunter.

 

“That’s great kid keep up the good work.” Dean encouraged over the lid of his beer, ignoring Sam who had the look of a deep philosopher. His hands still stank from vampiric blood as he tried half heartedly to dig it out of his rough hands. 

“It was, we know. I mean the raven swooped at us and nearly took off our heads, turns out it was a restless spirit all along but we took ‘im down no problem, eh guys?” His friends nodded frantically, suddenly noticing their situation, confused. 

 

The leader, Leo apparently, clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder as he continued his story of the possessed raven, describing in excruiating detail how difficult it was and how brave he was.

“But hey, things like that don’t come by everyday you know man?” Dean cocked an eyebrow, entertained, “I’m sure you’ll get to do it one day too man.” Leo’s rambling was becoming tiresome and Dean’s beer was finished. 

So Dean smiled, “They sure don’t, well we’re off kid, see you round.” Clapping the newbie on the back the two legends slunk back out of the bar, two pairs boots clumping against the rotting wood echoing as the only sound. Immediately the room sighed out in relief, releasing the anxiously held breath.

 

The pile of burly and muscled men and women rushed towards the boys, some shouting insults and others questioning what had happened. 

“Jesus Christ are you mad?” One hunter exclaimed, a woman well known for her werewolf expertise. 

Leo’s shaggy auburn hair was flicked, confused and mild fear written in his face, “n-no.” 

“Then what the hell were you doing talking to him!!” A man shouting, shaking Leo by the shoulder’s with a horrified look. 

“W-w-who?” All confidence from the earlier success forgotten, the poor newbie had 6 hunters on him questioning his sanity. 

“Everyone sit back down he’s new.” Ellen bit out before turning to Leo, “look, don’t worry you didn’t do anything serious-“

“Serious!? Serious?! The boy just spoke to the Winchesters, THE Winchesters!” The earlier woman screeched, distressed at even the thought. Leo was beginning to understand he did something wrong. 

“Who are the Winchesters?” Silence, understanding and then shouting,  
“The Winchesters?! Why they’re monsters!”  
“I heard they have died over 3 times.”  
“Well I heard one of them is dating an angel!”

“QUIET!” Authoritive and clear, Ellen settled down the panicking killers before allowing a nearby veteran explain calmly to Leo exactly who he had just spoken to.

“Dean Winchester and his brother Sam are hunters, simply. They haven’t been hunting for too long but they’ve killed more monsters than all of us have combined, not to mention a thousand times more powerful ones. Dean and Sam don’t just stop at monsters, if anyone gets in their way even if they’re a hunter.” A theatrical slicing motion with a thumb across his neck, Leo gulped, “they’re so good they don’t need plans, but I’ve heard they’re strategic geniuses but nowadays monsters aren’t challenging enough to even plan against. Did you see the blood on Dean’s hands?” Leo shook his head, grasping out blindly for his friends who had already ran out of the door, “I heard that’s from an entire vampire nest, they got rid of them in one night.” A swooping sound come from the older man to add to the effect, “Dean and Sam are immortal, hell, heaven and purgatory don’t want them they’re that ruthless. They have connections as well.” He gestures upwards, Leo gasped at the insinuation, “friends with them and everything and the king of hell and Lucifer himself.” 

Whispering the last part, “all buddies, even with God, they could kill an entire army with just. One. Gun. Monsters are behaving saintly since the Winchesters got on the scene. Apparently I heard that even one mention of those brothers can clear out an entire town of monsters.

They’re vicious psychos who stop at nothing to destroy what’s in their way. A buddy of mine told me they’ve killed angels and demons before like it’s no big thing. They’re monsters, fucking monsters.” He took one long sip of vodka before tying off his monologue, eyeing the nodding hunters as they passed around similar rumours and eyewitnesses of the carnage the Winchester’s leave in their wake. “And you, spoke to a man who has died over and over, been tortured in the deepest pits of hell and fought an archangel. Over a raven.”

 

The newbie dropped his gun, his heavy cheap monstrosity. “I-he-I...” hunters nodded in understanding, patting the poor kid on the back and left him to his revelation. 

 

Later that week Leo encountered Dean again at the Roadhouse, only this time he noticed Dean for what he was. The effortless movements that could morph into devastating attacks, the ever present eyes, intense on their environment and those they are talking to. The eyes of a experienced killer who had seen more than what was recommended for a human. Blood stained hands despite obvious efforts and various weapons with well worn down handles implying regular use. The Winchester was imposing, intimidating and dangerous without even attempting to be, the air like a second skin to the sun kissed male. But Dean smiled when he saw Leo, lumbered over oblivious to the fleeing party and sat with the jaw slacked newbie. 

The legends were true, those rumours must be true. Leo couldn’t help but watch Dean settle beside him with an nonchalant manner, unmistakenly back from a successful hunt. 

In that week he hadn’t seen Dean Leo had seen videos, heard more rumours and myths about the brothers, the fighter and the intellectual, Dean and Sam. And seeing him now he could not say one of them was false. Dean’s fighting style was unprecedented and wild. 

 

Leo, shakily went to bring his beer to his lips, his friends long gone. What the myth said next was enough to make his cheap beer dribble from his lips, “so, you were saying about that raven?”


End file.
